


From Beyond the Veil

by Remus_la_swearwolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Grimmauld Place, James Potter - Freeform, Lily Evans - Freeform, Lily Potter - Freeform, M/M, Marauders, Marauders era, OotP, Peter Pettigrew - Freeform, Remadora, Sirius falls through the veil but watches Remus, Teddy Lupin - Freeform, The department of mysteries - Freeform, Through the Veil, jily, post azkaban, sirius black - Freeform, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remus_la_swearwolf/pseuds/Remus_la_swearwolf
Summary: Sirius has fallen through the veil saving his Godson. It's cold here, and empty, and the only thing to be seen is the mist and the shadows of things that aren't really there. And Sirius has been alone for so long.Sometimes, if he's lucky, he'll catch a glimpse of Remus. Remus, who only loves him, Remus, who would never abandon him again. Right?





	From Beyond the Veil

The last thing Sirius remembers is the look on Remus' face, anguish ripping across his features and rendering him almost inhuman as his eyes scorched with something Sirius once had a name for, but has forgotten now.

And then Sirius had fallen, to the sound of Harry's screams. He doesn't know where he is, but it couldn't be death, because if it were, then James and Lily would be here and then he could fall on his knees and weep for their forgiveness like he'd been waiting to do for fourteen dark years.

He could have been here for any length -- days, weeks, months, years -- he doesn't know. Time passes oddly, here, like sand slipping through his fingers; sometimes trickling through the cracks, and then sometimes falling all at once.

It's big, and white, and cold and empty, but not the sort of cold and empty he's used to. The silence is ringing, yet comforting in a way, and the emptiness is peaceful. He doesn't even mind the cool fog that seems to swirl around his fingertips, accumulating in the air, and clinging to the corners of everything, where there should be shadows.

There's no darkness here, and technically speaking there isn't really even light; everything just seems to merge in with each other, blend and melt and smudge into one, great big amalgamation of nothingness.

He's always alone, and it's always empty and vacant, except when it isn't, and if he tries really hard, every now and then he might catch a fleeting glimpse of what he could have had if he'd never fallen.

Sometimes he sees Remus. He's always standing there, always alone. Sirius never sees him laughing, and his eyes are always sad and sharp, like the edges of a broken glass missing a piece, although every now and then a soft and wistful smile graces the corner of his mouth, kissed by the thin silver sliver of a scar, as he stares at something Sirius can't see.

Sirius wishes he'd smile more. How Sirius had loved that smile. He likes to think that that particular smile of Remus' was reserved specially for him -- that same sad, wistful smile he'd always given Sirius, eyes drinking every last curve, line and colour of him as if he expected him to be stolen away from him again, in this cold, terrible war that only swelled and grew stronger as it fed on the blood of the people he loved.

And his laugh. Oh, how Sirius had made him laugh. Sometimes they'd laugh so hard they'd choke on their laughter, and they would use it to chase away the tears that threatened to fall everytime the name of somebody they used to know was uttered in a hushed, solemn tone, followed by a shattering silence, and the growing feeling of being hollow as another one of the people who had once filled the empty spaces in their hearts burned out and faded away.

Sirius watches Remus. Slowly, slowly, he grows greyer, more gaunt, and the scars on his body increase in number, although not all of them are from the wolf. A scar for each of the fallen.

He watches Remus walk, his hands deep in his pockets, with eyes cast downwards and his head hung low with the shame of survival. If Sirius could, he would have lifted his chin, and told him to walk tall and proud. But everytime he tried to touch the man he loved, his hands would turn to smoke and spirits, and then Remus would turn and fade away into ashes, leaving Sirius to shout and grasp at nothing in despair.

Sometimes Remus is sitting, like he's talking to someone, and sometimes he's looking vacantly into the distance, waiting for something or nothing and sometimes he's bleeding and crying.

Sirius wants to shout, and stop the blood, to cover up the gashes and wounds with his hands, and kiss away each tear that falls from Remus' eyes like he used to, until the flow ebbed and stopped, and then Remus would fall into his arms, exhausted, as Sirius held him, and whispered pretty things into his ears and reminded him he wasn't a monster and that he was beautiful.

And he was beautiful. Every dulled and shining facet of him was stunning to Sirius, even if not everyone could see past the shadow that the wolf cast upon him.

There are no mirrors here, and Sirius has no idea what he might look like -- if he's still a shell of a hollowed out man, or if he's returned to the former glory of his youth, but watching Remus become greyer and more lined -- he feels so privileged getting to watch him live.

Remus talks to him, occasionally. "Sirius, Sirius," he whispers. "Sirius, where are you?"

Sometimes he'll weep as he speaks, drunk and breaking into a thousand small pieces he'll never be able to pick up, and sometimes he'll just talk to Sirius ever so casually, be it about chores or the Order, or somebody who's been ticking all his boxes lately.

Sometimes he'll lie back on his bed, in a dingy room Sirius can't see, and he'll stare at the ceiling and laugh hopelessly, "Sirius, Sirius, how did we ever come to this?"

Sirius tries to answer him, but the words always stick in his throat and sink with the taste of rot, and he knows that even if he could utter the words he'd like to speak, Remus wouldn't hear him anyway.

When Remus speaks to him, his heart leaps, if a dead man's heart could, and he lets himself pretend that he's back there with Remus, just the broken two of them against the cold, harsh world, each nursing the wounds of the other.

Sirius tries to talk to Remus himself, and sometimes Remus' head will turn ever so slightly towards him, and his weary green eyes will rove hungrily over the empty space where Sirius should be, only to have the temporary light with in them be extinguished in his disappointment, although he knew he was always going to be wrong, because Sirius was dead and gone and he was never, ever coming back for him, not this time.

In these moments, Sirius can almost feel the embers of his burnt out heart begin to stir again with hope, only to be doused cruelly as Remus looks up, sighs, and then looks away again, eyes sadder than before.

Sirius could scream forever, and still, Remus would only stare through him, as Sirius whispers to him and loves him as best as he can through the invisible wall that separates them both.

As time goes on, Remus stops drinking quite so much, and the lines on his forehead soften ever so slightly as he smiles more at somebody Sirius can't see.

Sirius has taken to hanging around Remus these days, but in these times he tries to give Remus some more privacy although the jealousy burns at him like a firebrand.

He's happy for Remus, if he's found love, even though he can't help but feel a savage burn of satisfaction when the fighting starts and the tears and the shouting. He tags along behind a cursing and distraught Remus, fleeing from the stress of a hasty and impulsive marriage, perhaps a rebound union to help him forget.

Sirius revels in the knowledge that he is the one that Remus will never get over, even if Remus' tears pain him like they were his own. He feels less lonely as Remus starts to whisper, "Sirius, Sirius," again, after so long, even if he knows it isn't healthy and that Remus should be happier and not so caught up in the complicated, disastrous web of nightmares and insanity that is Sirius.

He wants to touch Remus so badly that it aches, to brush his hand along his wasted cheek, or just to hold him in his arms for one last time, and lose himself in him, pretending that it's forever, and they're the only ones in existence. He regrets all the wasted years of their youth, when they'd been busy playing games and being foolish and angry and hurt, when instead of pointing fingers and spitting curses they could have spent their glory years basking in the warm and simple light of each other's love.

He watches his love surrender to the moon, time and time again, alone, just like it had been when Sirius had been locked up in that place, a man guilty of no crime but love and rashness, just a casualty of a bloody war started by men greater than he.

The burning jealousy subsides a little when he realises that this is what Remus has deserved all his life: a family. He looks on with joy when a child joins Remus in his visions, a child who constantly changes and sheds skins like a butterfly, although Sirius likes to imagine that he can see himself somewhat in this boy. He looks at the grey eyes, and the occasionally black hair that is long and dark as night, and he sees the look in Remus' eyes at this, and he thinks, if only...

But if there is one thing Sirius has learnt, it is that it doesn't do to dwell on regrets and "if onlys".

Times grow steadily darker, and Sirius watches as Remus is more and more on edge, talking to himself more, and speaking to Sirius, who really shouldn't be there, and his voice echoes unnaturally around the void, but Sirius would rather hear nothing else except for the voice of his love.

The Battle finally comes, and while Sirius hopes that the light overcomes the dark, and that the Battle is won, he can't help but not care for the outcome, if only his Remus is to live.

Remus fights, and shouts, until his clothes and body are torn and bloody, every movement filled with desperation and also a hard determination, until he finally falls, defending the life of somebody he loves, just as he did in his life with Sirius.

Because he had been the first to truly love Sirius, with all of his broken and sharp edges, to see him for more than the son of the darkness, and to treat him with gentleness and care, and in turn, Sirius had accepted Remus with all of his flaws, hidden or obvious, and had seen him for the brave and beautiful man he was instead of just the wolf, and had cleaned his wounds and wiped away his tears.

Remus falls in slow motion, and Sirius darts forward to catch him, his mouth wide in a screamed, "No!" only this time, Remus seems to hear him, and his green eyes burn into Sirius one last time, and he gasps as he falls, the arc of his body slowed by Sirius' insubstantial arms.

The white emptiness blurrs around Sirius as he sobs over Remus' fallen body, his green eyes wide and empty, reflecting Sirius' terrified face for the first time, and Sirius wonders why it is that only as Remus died, he could see Sirius.

He collapses onto his friend's broken and damaged body, tracing his fingers desperately over the skin of his soft yet rough cheek, drinking it all in for the last time, because now Remus is dead, and Sirius is here, alone, and will be, forever.

He closes Remus' eyes, his hands shaking, and then backs away blindly, staggering, and sobbing Remus' name, unable to look at him anymore.

He falls backwards, and lets out a cry of horror as somebody grabs his arm and pulls him upright. He imagines that it is some demon or monster of the deep, come to drag him down kicking to hell as penance for his crimes, but the touch is too warm and too gentle for that.

A warm arm circles around his waist, holding him tightly against a body, and Sirius freezes at the first thing he's felt in years. The smell is warm, and familiar, like Autumn and chocolate and everything Sirius loves, but he refuses to open his streaming eyes, not wanting this to be some kind of cruel illusion.

The warm arm that is keeping all of his pieces from shattering and exploding everywhere tightens, and there's no mistaking that warm, low chuckle that sounds like home and warmth and love and everything Sirius has been missing. He still doesn't dare open his eyes to look, wanting this to last as long as it can.

He lets out a gasping and shaky breath.

"Sirius?" the voice sounds confused, now. The arm releases his waist, and Sirius feels like he might crumple in on himself without it holding him there. He's turned around, facing the voice. "Sirius, you can open your eyes now. It's me. Remus." The voice is filled with love and unmistakable warmth and concern.

Sirius squeezes his eyes tightly shut, tears still pouring down his cheeks, memorising every scent, sound and texture before daring to open his eyes.

There Remus was: standing before him, young and renewed, his face full, his eyes bright with life and hope, and his scars vanished. His clothes are no longer shabby, and the bruises and cuts are gone from his face, and he glows with health.

Sirius buckles over again, but Remus stretches out a hand, steadying him, and for once, Sirius lets someone catch him.

"It's really you," he breathes, lifting up a hand to run it over the shining contours of Remus' face.

Remus lifts his hand, and does the same. "I missed you so, so, much."

Sirius nods frantically, barely able to see with all the joyful tears that are clouding his eyes. It's Remus, his Remus, and he's come back for him like he'd always promised he would, and now Sirius will never be left alone again. The flood of emotion overwhelms him, and he closes his eyes, seeing Remus has done the same. Their foreheads press together, and Sirius breathes him in. Perhaps now at last, they'll be happy.

If it has to be forever, then at least it's with Remus. He smiles, and presses their lips together.

It's soft, at first, a caressing of lips, and then it's fiery, and passionate. Remus' arms lock against Sirius', and Sirius can't tell if he's pulling him closer or pushing him away. If the heat of Remus against him were fire, he'd be ashes by now. Remus' grip tightens on him, and his hands move to grasp the sides of his face. The kiss is so frenzied and dangerous that it hurts. 

Remus' lips are torn away from his with a painful twist, and he pushes Sirius away, gasping. There's a guilty, trapped look in his eye, and he can't look at Sirius.

The old darkness in Sirius stirs, like a filthy, malodorous corpse from beyond the grave, and he grabs Remus' chin, forcing him to meet his eye. "What is it?'

He follows Remus' shame-filled gaze over his shoulder, and he sees a young woman, standing there in the mist. Her eyes are grey, just like his. Sirius feels like he knows her from somewhere, but he can't really remember. Memories tend to elude him like fireflies darting in and out of his grasp, as he leaps for them, glowing against the empty night sky.

Her hair shifts from a florid shade of pink, to a faded grey in her dismay and confusion, and it hits Sirius like a wrecking ball. He staggers under the weight of it. "Her!" he gasps. The child. The child with his hair, colours flowing in and out of it like leaves sweeping through a river, and his eyes, eyes that are just like Sirius'.

The woman's face is twisted with disgust and reproach. "Remus?"

Remus finally looks up, and there is pain in his gaze. And shame. And the heaviness of his betrayal. "I'm sorry," he says at last. He's looking at Sirius as he says it, but Sirius doesn't know if he's saying it more to him, or to the woman. Because that's all he's ever been. A mistake, to Remus, made many, many times over the years, and never really fully fixed. A wound he could never really heal. A drunken rush of hormones in their youth, or a heady thrill, or just something to pass the time with until he found someone better.

Because how could Sirius, in all his rotting and decaying glory, ever be enough for this man?

"Remus, come here." The woman extends her hand, glaring at Sirius as though she thinks she is saving Remus from him.

Sirius blinks at Remus, a horrible suspicion eating away at his heart. "Really?" he asks, his voice breaking. "You'd choose her? Over me?"

Remus swallows, and Sirius sees the unhappiness there. He grabs his hand.

"Remus," he says. "Don't do this."

The woman's hand is still stretched towards him. "I love you, Remus. I've always loved you."

No, Sirius wants to scream. I love him. And I always have. And he'll always love me.

"Our son, Remus," she reminds him, as he stands, halfway between the two of them. "We should see our son. Don't you want to see our son?"

Remus takes a step closer to her, and Sirius feels whatever he has left of a heart being ripped out of his chest. He can't breathe. He'll go mad if Remus abandons him again. "Remus. Please." He falls to his knees. "Don't leave me!"

Tears are pouring from his eyes, and spilling over his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Sirius," Remus whispers, and he softly pulls his hand from Sirius'.

Sirius curls into a ball on the floor, crumpling in on himself like an empty tin can. He blinks away the tears that blur his vision, and turn this void into a painful smudge of spilled colours enough to see Remus take her hand, and disappear into the swirling mists with her, leaving Sirius alone again. He doesn't look back.


End file.
